


The Sordid Coat Romance

by ll_again



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Other, Pretty much just crack, Tumblr Prompt, those unrequiteds probably don't go the direction you think they go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2018-12-22 18:56:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11973588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ll_again/pseuds/ll_again
Summary: It's no secret that Molly Hooper goes a bit barmy when Sherlock Holmes sweeps into Barts. But it's not for the reasons everyone assumes.





	The Sordid Coat Romance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [3seconds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/3seconds/gifts).



> 8minutehooper said: Congrats!! Well…since you specifically mentioned Mycroft’s brolly… how about Molly being jealous of Sherlock’s coat? Kind of a twisted version of CoatLock (cause we know Sherlock loves the thing!) :) I don’t know, I stink at prompts, so I’ll be happy for anything you feel like doing.  
> \--  
> So… the prompt said 'jealous of', and I might have read that as 'madly in love with'. >.>
> 
> Molly is kind of a madwoman in this and I don't care because I sort of love it. Also Jim was feeling left out so there is bonus Molliarty sort of because I don't want to piss off Jim.

_First Meeting:_

Molly suppressed a moan as she watched the last bit of coattail disappear around the door.

"Huh," Mike Stamford said. "You handled him well."

"Umf?" Molly blinked and ducked her head, busying herself with tidying the equipment scattered over her workbench. She cleared her throat in a belated attempt to make her involuntary noise sound like a cough. "Sorry. Who?"

Where had all this stuff come from? she wondered, picking up a pipette and staring at it. Although it was clearly dirty, Molly had no recollection of using the instrument.

Mike smothered a laugh into his fist. "Sherlock," he said. "Most people are bothered by that whole mind reading bit he does, you know. I think you put him off, actually. Usually he goes on for ages."

"Who's Sherlock?" Molly said, piling dirty lab equipment onto a tray.

"Holmes?" Mike said, eyeing her oddly. "Chap who was just here? Detective. Bit of an arse. Wears that coat?"

Molly nearly dropped her tray. _Oh_! "Oh, um. Yes. Sherlock Holmes. He's … nice." _Very nice…_ she thought, taking her tray and leaving the lab, visions of heavy tweed wool swirling through her thoughts.

Mike watched her leave with an incredulous twisting of his facial features. "Nice?" he muttered to himself. "Sherlock Holmes?"

…

_Coffee:_

Molly ducked into the lab, mug of coffee – black, two sugars – in hand. She briefly glanced at the stranger with the cane standing at the end of the worktable, wondering who he was, but quickly put him out of her mind as she sidled up to the coat rack. Out of sight of anyone, Molly reached out and slipped her fingers into the sleeve of the Belstaff, humming under her breath at the silky feel of the lining, contrasted by the rough wool against the pad of her thumb as she stroked it happily.

Pity its owner had misunderstood her invitation for coffee; she so wanted to see the Coat out of the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital. Undoubtedly it looked even lovelier in natural light.

"Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you."

Molly jumped, sloshing hot liquid over her hand and narrowly – horror of horrors – missing the Belstaff. She carefully held back a sigh as she scurried past the newcomer to hand over the mug.

Perhaps not such a pity about the misunderstanding after all, she thought, beating a quick retreat out of the lab. Coffee with Sherlock was bound to be excruciating, no matter how well he filled out the Coat.

…

_Jim:_

"So you're friends with this Sherlock Holmes, are you?"

Molly made a face, sipped her cafeteria coffee without thought and gagged a little. "Um, not friends exactly," she said. "He comes to the lab sometimes."

Jim leaned towards her, a little too eagerly, his own coffee sitting untouched by his elbow. 'Coffee' was a misnomer; he would more accurately describe it as 'floor sweepings brewed in reject petrol'.

"What's he like then?" he said in his affected 'Jim from IT' lilt, hamming it up a little just for fun. "Tell me _everything_ , Molls."

Her face scrunched up again. For someone who rattled on endlessly in her blog about the man (albeit anonymously), she seemed reluctant to speak about him now, which was … odd. "He's, um, you know, he's very smart."

"Oh, come on now," Jim cajoled. "That's not how you usually talk about him."

_Do you believe in love at first sight? There's this man and I'm in love. At least, I think I am. I can't stop thinking about it. It's so brilliant it's like he's burning. And he seems so cool but not really. And the fit. The way he moves makes me flutter inside. And I can't stop thinking about it._

Nauseating. Even just recalling the words gave him traumatic flashbacks.

She was such an expressive thing that he could see her go from confusion, to the recall that he had originally contacted her via her blog, to a sudden understanding. "Oh!" the little mouse squeaked, turning a bright red. "No, that's not what I meant." Molly chewed on her lip, looking at him through her lashes as the corner of her mouth tilted upwards in a coy smile. "It's a little daft really, but he wears this coat…"

And then she was off in much the manner Jim had expected from the start, gushing effusively not about the man himself, but this much vaunted coat. He watched, stunned, mouth agape, for nearly fifteen minutes as she detailed it down to every buttonhole (spending a special amount of time on the red one in the lapel). His fingers groped absently for his cup, and Jim took two large swallows of his coffee before the taste registered and he spat it back out, coughing.

"Why don't you just get your own coat?" he asked, wiping at his mouth. "I'll buy you one." Unnoticed by Molly, Jim froze as soon as the offer was made, wondering where the hell it had come from.

Molly sighed wistfully. "It wouldn't be the same." She shook herself and pasted on a smile. "Want to come over tonight and watch Glee?"

"Yeah, sure," Jim said, not minding his words, still caught up trying to figure out why he'd offered to do anything for this obviously daft cow.

Two hours later, he was scrabbling at his phone as soon as Molly disappeared into the kitchen to make more popcorn, intent on texting Moran to manufacture some emergency so he could get away with Molly none the wiser. When she returned with a bowl of hot buttery goodness and a couple of lagers, Jim found himself scrolling through the Belstaff website with no recollection of how he'd come to be there, looking for a ladies coat that matched the one she'd described.

"So what do you think of the show?" Molly asked as she settled back onto the couch.

_It is a gross violation of the_ _UN_ _Conventions_ _against Torture_ , Jim thought.

"It's great, I love it!" he said.

…

_The Roof:_

"And I bequeath," Jim said, twirling his gun absently.

Sherlock eyed it nervously as he typed into his phone.

"The Coat... to Molly Joan Hooper… of blah blah blah…"

"She can get her own coat!" Sherlock sputtered.

Jim pointed the index finger of his free hand at Sherlock, looking down the mock 'barrel'. "Not the same," he said, pulling his 'trigger' thumb down.

…

_The Return:_

Sherlock let Anthea slide the Coat onto his arms, shrugged his shoulders to settle it, gave it an experimental twirl. His mouth twisted downwards.

"This isn't my coat."

Mycroft rolled his eyes so hard, his entire head went along for the ride. "It's practically an exact replica," he said in that 'don't argue with me I'm the bloody British Government and I ate MI-6 for breakfast' tone of voice.

" _Practically_ ," Sherlock pointed out snidely.

"Do contain yourself, brother dear," Mycroft said. He paused, clicking his tongue absently, then consented to add, "The original was … lost."

Sherlock stared at his older brother, greatly amused that his stiffness of bearing was even stiffer than usual to compensate for a sudden urge to fidget. "Oh never mind," he said, flicking his hand as he turned away. "I know what happened to it."

But it was three weeks before Sherlock could contrive to confront Molly in her flat, without her dullard of a fiance hanging around. She was vacuuming and didn't notice when he entered. Sherlock stood in the foyer for a long minute, watching her dance around with the vacuum, wearing his coat and a pair of eye wateringly bright, cherry printed socks.

"Christ, Sherlock!" Molly yelped when she noticed him, clutching the lapels of his coat closed around her decolletage.

"I think that's mine," Sherlock said mildly.

Molly narrowed her eyes and bared her teeth like a furious kitten imitating its lion cousins. "You have your own," she said, nodding to the replica that Mycroft had procured.

"Not the same."

"Saved your life."

"Are you even wearing anything under that?" Sherlock asked, unable to counter her last point.

"Wha-? Of course I am," Molly huffed, clutching tighter at the coat.

Sherlock tilted his head, raking his eyes down and then back up her frame. Unfortunately, the thickness of the Belstaff meant he really couldn't deduce if she was lying. Probably she wasn't. "Pity," he murmured.

Molly's eyes narrowed. "What?"

Sherlock's eyes widened in perfect innocence. "What?"

Molly's eyes moved left, paused, moved to the right. She unpursed her lips finally. "Want to watch some Glee?"

"I've suffered enough torture lately, thanks," Sherlock said, moving to the couch and flinging himself onto it elegantly.

"What?" Molly asked flatly, sitting down next to him. Genuine Belstaff next to replica Belstaff.

Sherlock's gaze wandered the length of her bared legs as she propped her feet onto the coffee table. "Nothing. Um. Yes, love to. Glee. Yay."

"Excellent," Molly chirped, flipping on the telly and snuggling into her Coat. There was a lot of extra coat for her to snuggle into, as it happened.

The television started singing, and Sherlock couldn't contain himself, "For God's sake, Molly…"

"Mine," she said through gritted teeth, scooting away from him and nearly tripping on the coattails.

"It's six sizes too big-"

"Nonsense. Four at the most."

"-and it _is_ actually my property."

Molly sniffed. "Legally, you died. And quasi-legally, you bequeathed the Coat to me in your Last Will and Testament."

"Under duress!" Sherlock felt it vitally important to point out.

Molly Hooper, stone cold Coat thief, shrugged a careless shoulder. "Prove it. Not even your family solicitor questioned that you'd send in your will via text message." Sherlock gaped at her as she wiggled her hand free of the overly long sleeve so she could chew on her thumbnail. "It was nice of Jim to arrange," she commented after a moment. "Especially after the way we broke up."

Sherlock was too busy sputtering to see her sly smile. "You broke up over my coat?"

"I mean, the whole psychopath thing was a factor."

"That's it! Give it back." Sherlock lunged; Molly squealed and he backed off with some alarm. "Are you really naked? In my coat?"

Molly valiantly clutched the Coat, slowly sliding unchecked off the couch but unwilling to loosen her grip to right herself. " _My_ Coat," she said, flashing him her teeth.

Sherlock's pupils flared wide just before he pounced. The two perfectly reasonable adults having a perfectly reasonable discussion cum wrestling match landed in a pile next to a pair of occupied leather loafers.

"Hi Tom," Molly said, looking up at her upside-down fiance. "Sherlock was just, um…"

"Bolthole," Sherlock said quickly.

"Right!" Molly wiggled a little, realized she was pinned, and gave it up as a bad job. "Sherlock stays here sometimes when he needs the space."

"Space," Tom repeated, a frown furrowing his brow.

"Yes. When he needs to get a handle on a case or something, you know…"

Sherlock discreetly removed his hand from Molly's chest.

Molly beamed innocently at Tom. "We were just watching some Glee. Care to join us?"

A singular look of horror passed over Tom's face. "I thought I'd pop out for take away," he said.

Sherlock scrambled to his feet. "I can help."

Tom opened his mouth, caught sight of Sherlock's face, then nodded. "Yeah, thanks mate."

…

_Happy Ending:_

Molly dusted herself off as the door shut behind Sherlock and Tom's quick retreat. She made a quick detour to the kitchen for the ice cream carton and a spoon, then settled back onto the couch and flicked the telly over to Jeremy Kyle.

"Just you and me, Coat," Molly said happily, patting the lapel. "That's the way we like it, isn't it?"


End file.
